


your love is my turning page

by maquina



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Canonical Character Death, Grief/Mourning, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-29 23:06:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3914050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maquina/pseuds/maquina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Like clockwork, his mysterious non-customer had arrived to peer in at the flowers in the window display. </p>
<p>“There he is again,” Bertholdt announced. He stood the closest to the window, rearranging an entire shelf of orchids, alternating between frowning at the flowers and frowning at the guy who stood outside their window display, peering at the sign advertising a sale for Mother’s Day. </p>
<p>Eren looked up from a rather hideous arrangement of petunias and wildflowers and frowned too. ”Don’t you think it’s weird that he never comes inside?”</p>
<p>Armin shushed him, even though Eren wasn’t talking loud enough to be heard outside.</p>
            </blockquote>





	your love is my turning page

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Jearmin Reverse Bang 2015. It was inspired by wello’s lovely art, which can be viewed below and on [tumblr](http://imwello.tumblr.com/post/118599283594/for-jearmin-reverse-bang-to-go-with-wonderful)!
> 
> Disclaimer: I know nothing about how flower shops work, but you can suspend disbelief for your ship, right? Warnings for canonical character death and mentions of a car accident.

As a child, Armin would wander from his home and duck underneath the broken fence that blocked the path to the sprawling forest that stretched out on the north side of the neighborhood. Here he would trip over roots and get leaves stuck in his hair and marvel at everything nature had to offer him: the sun filtering through the branches high above, the echoing bird calls, small puddles for him to muddy his pants in. The world seemed endlessly beautiful then, placed just within his reach.

He would take souvenirs home with him, a ladybug balanced on a finger, a rock or two, and once a bird with a broken wing that didn’t make it through the night. Easier still were the flowers, colorful samples in his burgeoning collection. Lying on his stomach on his bedroom floor, he would flip through a book his grandfather had bought him secondhand and give them their names back, which made it all the worse when they slowly dried up and died pressed between the pages of the book.

It was a strange detail to recall, the death and decay in so many of his childhood journals, imprints scattered among his doodles and paragraphs of messy, cramped handwriting that told tales of his days playing with Eren and Mikasa and highlighted his longing for something more. The memories came tinged with nostalgia and a warmth he had in him even now, as he snipped away at flowers he once might have picked in his backyard in order to prepare a bouquet. Now, all around him, it seemed as if the forest of his childhood had emerged from the pages of his memory and spilled out of ceramic pots and painted vases and hanging baskets in bright shades of green and bursts of color. As a kid, he never could have imagined having a place like this that was all his own.

Armin sat on a stool, hunched over an arrangement of baby’s breath and lilacs, wrapping their stems with a golden ribbon. The maid of honor for a wedding was due to pick them up in a couple of hours, and between every other May wedding and Mother’s Day, Armin’s tiny flower shop was under a time crunch. Across the counter, Eren flipped through a book of flower arrangements, taking pictures as he went and texting them to Mikasa. 

“Do you think she’ll like this one?” he asked, shoving the binder under Armin’s nose. 

Armin shook his head. “No roses, remember? She vetoed that three flower arrangements ago.” 

Eren sighed and continued flipping through the book. Armin knew his pain personally, considering he was the one who had a growing pile of canceled orders from Eren, whose wedding was proving to be an extensive pain to be a part of. Armin was just finishing up a third replica of the same bouquet when a glance at his watch told him it was a few minutes past five. Like clockwork, his mysterious non-customer had arrived to peer in at the flowers in the window display. 

“There he is again,” Bertholdt announced. He stood the closest to the window, rearranging an entire shelf of orchids, alternating between frowning at the flowers and frowning at the guy who stood outside their window display, peering at the sign advertising a sale for Mother’s Day. 

Eren looked up from a rather hideous arrangement of petunias and wildflowers and frowned too. ”Don’t you think it’s weird that he never comes inside?”

Armin shushed him, even though Eren wasn’t talking loud enough to be heard outside. Probably. Besides, it was highly unprofessional considering there were a handful of other customers browsing through the shop. 

It had been a week since Armin's non-customer had started showing up. A week and no sign he actually intended to step inside. He remained a hesitant, spectral presence that showed up for a few minutes at a time and then went on his way. Sometimes he and Bertholdt alternated between coming up with stories about him. In one, he wanted to woo a person with flowers but couldn’t work up the courage to do so. In another, he was a flower shop owner himself, checking out the competition. Admittedly ridiculous, it was a harmless activity that helped pass the time during their slower afternoons, one that delighted whichever friend of theirs happened to have stopped by.

When Armin looked again and didn't see him at the display, it was business as usual. At least until he heard the telltale chime of the bell over the door signaling someone's arrival. Setting down the flowers and the ribbon, Armin wiped his hands on his apron and took a few steps to be visible among all the foliage. He should have known what was up when Bertholdt blanched and fumbled with the orchid he was holding. 

"Welcome! Can I --" Armin faltered as he saw who it was, his non-customer finally inside. Behind him, Eren laughed in disbelief. Even though his stomach was suddenly doing somersaults, Armin recovered and continued, "Can I help you with anything?" 

His non-customer shook his head. “Thanks, but I’m just looking.” His voice was faint, tired, but about as deep as Armin had imagined it.

"Okay," Armin nodded. "I'll be within earshot if you change your mind!" And he retreated back to his counter, although he kept his eyes on the figure standing by his hydrangeas and nearly bumped into Bertholdt as he did so. He was being ridiculous.

He made the mistake of looking at Eren then, who was looking at him with wide-eyes of exaggerated surprise. “Holy crap,” he mouthed at Armin, who glared at Eren in a way he hoped would be interpreted as ‘Be subtle’. Behind him, Bertholdt had forgotten the meaning of subtlety himself as he watched the newcomer as if he was going to grab a potted plant and run.

It was just some stranger who finally had some time to kill so he’d decided to step into the shop he’d been admiring all this time. But even though he told himself not to, Armin kept glancing up from the invoice he was writing, keen on where his non-customer wandered.

For months now, Jean had felt like his personality had been diluted by grief. He was bent out of shape by anger and guilt, and he had become very good at not dealing with it. Everything had come down to routine: eat, sleep, work, rinse and repeat. He even walked his way to and from work by rote memory, until he took a wrong turn on his way home one day while lost deep in thought and found the flower shop. 

He wouldn’t have noticed it if he hadn’t nearly bumped into a guy in an apron, who’d been struggling to get up the curb and to the door with an armful of packages and papers and Jean thought he even saw a pair of scissors haphazardly piled on top. All Jean had really seen was blond hair and a hint of a button nose before he vanished inside with a tinkle of a bell. 

That was when Jean started to pay attention to where he was going.

He went out of his way to pass by the shop returning home from work, curious. For the first time, he began to think he could face this, the anger and guilt and grief inside of him, if all he had to do was buy a bouquet of flowers and make the short drive to the cemetery to visit his best friend.

But he’d been wrong. Even though he’d finally forced himself inside, he couldn’t do this. As he looked over the collection of beautiful flowers and overheard people talking about the ones they were going to buy for their husband, wife, or friend, all he could think about was the funeral he’d walked out on and all the flowers that had decorated the room and crowded the coffin he couldn’t approach. He saw them in the store now, the lilies and roses and tulips. None of them had been one of Marco’s favorites, not a single one--

It felt like a vise around his lungs. As his breathing came in shallower, Jean hunched in on himself and tried to push it all away, eyes shut tight against the memories. He tried to swallow past the lump in his throat, but it was lodged. The past month, this rising tide of unbearable sadness had threatened to overwhelm him, and now he nearly choked on it. When Jean had imagined his steely front breaking, he hadn’t thought it would be in public over something as innocuous as flowers. Jesus Christ. 

“Um, excuse me, is everything okay?” The interruption came quietly, nervously, from somewhere behind him. One of the employees, of course. Awareness came back to him in a hot rush of embarrassment. He wasn’t alone, there were people trying to buy flowers and he was standing in a corner freaking them out. Jean had to take an audible shaky breath before he could answer. 

“Yeah,” he said hoarsely, as he tried to blink away the wetness in his eyes. He was largely unsuccessful. “I’m just-- sorry, I don’t usually have emotional breakdowns in flower shops.”

“I wouldn’t call that a breakdown,” came another gentle interjection.

“Actually, it kind of was,” chimed in yet another guy. Jean finally chanced a look and met a trio of curious looks, while everyone else in the shop was trying to be discreet in their staring. The tallest of the three, also in an apron, didn’t seem like the type that really knew how to deal with emotional outbursts by strangers. He was cradling a potted plant to his chest like a shield. Jean couldn’t blame him.

Jean shook his head as he dropped his eyes to his shoes and tried to wipe away the tears that had escaped. His sleeve was doing a poor job of it, and now he was equal parts embarrassed and sad, a pitiful combination. What a disaster he was. 

“Bertholdt, why don’t you go finish those bouquets I left on the counter. Eren, I believe you still need to decide on your wedding flowers.” With those few firm words, the blonde reduced the audience to one, and Jean couldn’t help but feel grateful for that small kindness. Turning back to Jean, he said, “Some brides get really emotional over their flower arrangements. This shop has seen worse.” He was earnest albeit clumsy in his attempt at comfort, but Jean still gave him the faintest and most watery of smiles. He noticed the name tag on his apron: _Armin_. 

Armin, the flower shop owner, with blond hair and a button nose and, apparently, the bluest eyes Jean had ever seen.

It was even more embarrassing now that he was doing this here, in this particular flower shop. But all he saw in Armin’s eyes was the warmest sympathy, and it didn’t grate like everyone else’s had. Perhaps because he was really looking at him as a person, as Jean, and not just at his monstrous grief, which seemed to underscore his every action and word. 

Jean cleared his throat. “I swear I didn’t come here just to cry. I _would_ like to buy some flowers.” 

Armin smiled but not unkindly. “Well, I’d say you’re in the right place.” He stepped up to Jean and reached around him to pluck a marigold from its vase on the shelf behind him. “I noticed you looking at a lot of the more common flowers seen in arrangements for funerals, but I don’t think you’re trying to plan one.” 

His stomach dropped at the thought. “What gave me away?” Jean asked, even as he took the offered marigold. 

“A week is a really long time to decide flowers for a funeral,” Armin said.

Jean’s watery smile was more substantial this time. Armin flushed, but he ducked his head to hide it. 

He turned away, tucking a stray piece of hair behind one ear. “So what’s your story?” he asked. It was probably courtesy, a distraction to keep him from panicking again. Fidgeting, Jean scrubbed at his face again with his free hand, sighing. He didn’t know where to start, so he just watched Armin, as he must have watched him every day that week. 

Armin moved through the shop with both expected familiarity and the appreciation of someone who must love nature, his fingers light on petals and leaves alike. It took mere seconds of consideration to make his choices. From the counter, he took up a handful of baby’s breath and then walked to the far end of the shop to gather up flowers with upswept white petals. But even as he moved to gather the flowers, he still took a moment to speak to the other customers in the shop and leave them with a smile on their faces.

When he made it back to Jean, he added, voice low, “It’s okay, you don’t actually have to tell me,” but Armin pressed the flowers into Jean’s hands so carefully, building a bouquet for him without having been asked with such tenderness, that it all rushed out of Jean.

“My best friend died and I skipped out on his funeral, and I haven’t even been to see his grave.” The words punched out of him in a messy exhale, and Jean felt something like a thread unraveling as the pressure in his chest gave way to painful relief. From the moment he’d ducked out of the service early, he hadn’t been honest with anyone, especially not himself. He cursed under his breath, angry and sad, at his weakness, at his dishonesty, at this public baring of his feelings. Staring at the flowers in his hands, Jean tried to focus on breathing.

“ _Oh_.” Armin stepped closer. He didn’t say _I’m sorry_ or any of the other platitudes Jean had become accustomed to hearing. Instead, he reached out and touched Jean’s hands. His own were calloused, a gardener’s hands. “Careful,” he said and pried the flowers from Jean’s too tight grip. “Let me put these in water for you, and then make you some tea.” 

Jean started to protest, even as his vision blurred from a fresh wave of tears, because he didn’t deserve a stranger’s kindness, not like this, but Armin wouldn’t hear it. “I just think you have a lot to say. The tea is just a bonus.” 

“Actually, the tea is not that great at all,” said the one Armin had called Eren, who Jean had nearly forgotten about. He leaned against the counter, arms crossed. He was looking at Jean with more sympathy than earlier now, which made him want to crawl inside himself. “But you look like shit, so you might need it.” 

Jean glared at him until Armin came back and then guided him toward the back room with a gentle hand on his elbow. He was very warm at his side, and if Jean leaned into his touch just a little bit, well, there was no harm in that. 

/ 

Armin couldn’t have anticipated that his day would take such an unexpected turn, but he wasn’t sorry it had. Before he knew it, his mysterious non-customer had become Jean, a fully realized individual that tugged on all his heartstrings. 

“Oh, yeah,” he’d said, “You should probably know my name before I cry some more, right?” His self-deprecation was a sharp edge Armin was familiar with, but he didn’t like seeing it on other people. 

“Jean,” he’d said then, almost shy. “It’s Jean.” He sat hunched over on the sagging couch Armin had stuffed into his personal break room, hands wrapped around a steaming cup of herbal tea. Armin had smiled and introduced himself too, blushing again when Jean pointed out his name tag gave it away a long time ago. 

The couch was small, so they sat close enough that their knees were touching. Armin watched Jean as he talked, cataloguing the myriad of emotions that shifted over his face as he told Armin about his decades old friendship with Marco, from its start in elementary school to its very tragic end.

“A hit and run,” Armin echoed, saddened. 

Jean nodded, expression pained. “He survived the initial accident, but when he got out of his car, another car just--” His voice broke, and he had to take a moment before he continued, “The paramedics found him by the side of the road. No one stayed, no one even tried to help him. To this day, they have no information on the drivers. Their best guess is that it was some assholes street racing.” Jean cursed under his breath, clenching and unclenching his fists, his bitter anger a familiar thing to Armin. 

Armin didn’t say anything though, but he bumped his knee into Jean’s to shake him out of the deep reverie he’d fallen into. Jean looked up at him, and he seemed less tightly wound than before although no less drawn thin by sorrow. He opened his mouth to speak, when Bertholdt stuck his head in. He looked a bit frazzled and had a smudge of dirt right above his left eyebrow. Armin instantly felt bad for leaving him to man the store alone.. 

“The last of the customers have left, and I sent Eren home to his fiancée, so we can lock up. Everything alright?” he asked. He looked over Jean, whose face was still marked by recent tears. Embarrassed, Jean became very interested in the dregs of his tea.

“Yeah, you go ahead. I’ll close up shortly,” Armin said, getting up. Before Bertholdt was gone, he added, “Hey, thank you, by the way.” Bertholdt shrugged it off in his usual shy way and was gone before Armin could tell him to take tomorrow off. 

Jean looked at his watch then and let out a noisy breath that could have been a curse word. “I’m sorry, I’ve taken up so much of your time. This was--” 

Armin cut him off, “Really, it’s okay. I insisted, didn’t I?”

He gestured for Jean to follow him out front. The sun was setting now, its last tendrils leaving the shop lit in a dim glow. When the shop was empty like this at the end of the day, Armin always felt a peculiar sense of peace. He spotted the binder Eren had been flipping through open on the counter, with a sticky note stuck to one of Armin’s favorites. It read ‘This one! For the last time, I promise!’ and was signed by Eren. Armin laughed softly and set the book aside to start the order tomorrow. 

To Jean, he said, “Do you still want the flowers?” Bertholdt had placed them to the side and had even added some wildflowers to the mix. 

Jean hesitated to answer for a moment, before he settled on, “Yes, please.” 

The silence that fell over them was comfortable but brief. While Jean was content to watch Armin finish the work he’d started, it wasn’t unwelcome when he began to explain the flowers. “The marigolds are for grief and sorrow, and the cyclamen,” here Armin pointed to the flowers with the upturned petals he’d chosen earlier, “is for goodbyes. I also added poppies for eternal life. Did you know Egyptians used them in their burials?” It was endearing, how excited he was about sharing the fact. Jean could imagine that Armin was like this about many things in his life. 

“It’s simple, but I think it’s a good start.” 

Jean thought that simple was an understatement. The arrangement was beautiful, a colorful collection of blooms and lush greens that were a stark contrast to the clinical white flowers he remembered at the funeral. Every time he caught the scent of lilies now, he felt nauseous. But these flowers made him feel hopeful, and they looked like the kind Marco, with his bright outlook on all things, would have stopped and appreciated.

“Thank you,” Jean said. The words didn’t hold the full weight of what the entire afternoon meant to him. He felt lighter and stronger, with a renewed determination to follow through on his original plan. “You didn’t have to do all this for a stranger, but thank you. Really.” 

Armin smiled, a bright curve of his lips that made Jean’s heart skip a beat. “We’re not strangers anymore,” he said. Even though he kept his eyes on the bouquet he was working on, Jean could see the mischievous tilt to his smile now. “You’ve cried in front of me, so we’re practically friends now, right?” 

“This has to be the weirdest way I’ve made a friend, but I’ll take it,” he said, leaning on the counter and peering at the curious way Armin tied his knots into the ribbon holding the flowers together. 

Armin used plastic to secure the stems, using an orange rubber band to hold it all together. “Stranger things have happened, right?” he said, and held out the finished bouquet for Jean to take. Their fingers brushed as he did, and static electricity crackled at their point of contact. 

Jean nearly dropped the flowers, but he recovered with some grace, laughing ruefully. “Yeah, they have.” 

He patted his pockets then, digging for his wallet. “How much do I owe you?”

Armin waved him off. “Nothing. They’re on the house.”

“No way!” Jean protested. “I don’t appreciate being a charity case.”

But Armin was firm. He leveled Jean with a look that said he wasn’t going to budge. “And I don’t take on charity cases. Tell Marco they’re from me. He sounds like someone I would have liked to know.” 

For the thousandth time that day, Jean had to swallow around the lump in his throat. He held the flowers carefully, almost reverently, and nodded. “Fine, okay. I will.” He seemed to rally back then, looking up at Armin with determination. “But I’ll definitely be paying for the next flowers, okay?” 

Armin smiled. “I’ll hold you to that.”

/

Armin told himself not to get his hopes up. It was a harmless little crush that made his heart flip flop in his chest when Jean passed by the week after with a sheepish grin and an order for more flowers. He was painfully earnest as he thanked Armin again for giving him the courage, and Armin turned an embarrassing shade of red as he listened. Later, he had to endure teasing comments from all his friends because Bertholdt betrayed him to everyone.

Comforting a guy while he cried about his dead best friend wasn’t the most solid foundation for a relationship, but Armin was the sort of daydreamer who’d let himself hope just a little bit, even when he shouldn’t. So when there came a stretch about two weeks long where Armin didn’t see a hint of Jean around the neighborhood, it was the same harmless crush that caused his disappointment. 

Then his phone rang one day, and he nearly missed it, but he picked up at the last second, and his heart soared when he heard who it was on the other end. “It’s been a terrible few weeks at work and personally,” Jean started, sounding out of breath. “but I went to see his family, like I told you I would a few weeks ago, remember? Anyway, that’s not why I was calling -- I figured it was time we met outside the shop, so would you want to get coffee with me?” 

Dazed but delighted, Armin started to say yes before he made eye contact with a flustered Bertholdt, who was trying to deal with two customers at once, and their phone was lighting up with other calls coming in. Armin wilted and said, “I’d love to, but we’re working late today, and I can’t exactly leave Bertholdt alone.” Bertholdt shot him a look that said he’d better not, and Armin had to smile despite this new disappointment. “Rain check?”

Jean recovered quickly though and offered, “We could reschedule for another day, but since you’re working late… I could pick something up for you?” Armin had barely said yes before they hung up, and it was only when he was halfway through taking the second phone order in a row that he realized he never told Jean what kind of coffee to buy. 

Jean showed up with a very safe plain latte, sugar on the side, and when Armin confessed that he normally took his coffee black, Jean was personally offended. Berthold had no qualms about sweeping in to take both the coffee Jean had brought for him and Armin’s. Even as he scowled at Bertholdt, Jean swore to Armin that he’d find a coffee concoction that Armin liked. 

Armin laughed, “You can try! All my friends have given up on me.” 

As Jean waxed poetic about how coffee was his first love, Armin found himself watching him again. He wasn’t so different from the guy that came in that day, all messy hair and sorrow, but he did look lighter. It was only when another customer interrupted their conversation that Jean reluctantly decided to leave. Before he did, he bought another bouquet, just as colorful as the last, and Armin didn’t even have to ask where he was going after.

What Armin did ask before he let him go was, “Are you doing okay?”

Jean’s smile was small but sweet as he said, “Not completely, but I’m getting there. That’s enough, right?”

/ 

Jean set a standing order to pick up a bouquet every Friday, Armin’s choice. He always brought coffee. 

“You know, people usually have their regular coffee orders. Not regular orders of flowers for a dead friend. Is it weird? This is probably weird of me.” As he spoke, he gestured with his paper cup. He nearly spilled it in the process, but Armin rescued it from his clumsy grip, sipped, and wrinkled his nose. Jean sighed but he was looking at Armin with something dangerously close to fondness that he didn’t even try to hide.

“Nah, not at all,” Armin said as he rang up Jean’s purchase. “You’re keeping me in business, so I don’t think it’s weird at all.” 

“Well, maybe I just like seeing you,” Jean said with a shrug. He seemed to realize what he said only after the words were out and it was too late to take them back. Armin gaped and by the time his brain rebooted, the moment was gone. Jean had taken his flowers and left. 

“I’m an idiot,” Armin said out loud. 

“Yeah, you are,” Bertholdt agreed. The other customer in the store, a business woman who absolutely didn’t know the story, nodded along. 

Armin spent the rest of the week all twisted up, beating himself up for missing the opportunity, but he couldn’t contact Jean. They had never exchanged numbers because their friendship seemed to exist solely in the flower shop, Jean having gone from a mysterious non-customer to a charming, sometimes nerdy guy who was sweet enough to take flowers to his best friend’s grave every week and was making surprising progress with his grief. 

“Damn, you have it bad,” Eren said at the end of Armin’s breathless confession. He was leaning on the counter, flipping through the binder again, because Mikasa had decided she wanted different flowers for the fifth time. 

“Didn’t I tell everyone this?” Bertholdt said, and Armin glared at him like the betrayer he was. 

Just then the bell over the door chimed, signaling the arrival of a customer. Both he and Bertholdt broke their staring contest and turned to welcome them, but they stopped when they saw who it was: Jean. For someone who was so very tall, Bertholdt sure knew how to disappear in a second, and he took Eren with him in a very not subtle move to leave Armin and Jean alone. 

There was a beat of silence in which Armin and Jean stared at each other, before Armin blurted out, “You’re early.” 

Jean laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, uh, I couldn’t wait until tomorrow.”

“After last week, I wasn’t really holding my breath,” Armin admitted, and he felt a little stupid saying it, but apparently his filter for feelings had been worn down by the anxious week he’d had. 

“I’ll admit it, I panicked,” Jean said, walking up to the counter. This close, Armin could see that he was blushing, embarrassed, and he regretted bringing it up. “I gotta stop blurting out my emotions, it’s really not cool.” 

“You’re the most uncool person I know, Jean Kirschtein,” Armin said. Jean started to protest goodnaturedly, falling back into their usual dynamic, but Armin barreled through, confessing, “But what I wanted to say last week was, I like seeing you too.”

Jean froze for a moment, processing the rush of words, but then he relaxed and happiness lit up his face. In that moment, Armin knew that he was light years away from the guy who had first walked into Armin’s store a couple months ago and nearly broke under the pressure of his grief and sorrow. Every day since, Armin had seen the shadows in his eyes get replaced by an infectious happiness, and somewhere along the line, he’d started to want to share that happiness with Jean.

“I think we’re defined by weird, Armin,” Jean said. His name sounded like something special when Jean said it, warm and bright. “But I’ll take it.” 

“Stranger things have happened, right?” Armin said as Jean walked around the counter to take his hands, smudged with dirt from some plants he’d been repotting earlier. 

“Yeah, they really have,” he replied, his voice a near whisper as he drew Armin close and dipped his head, and Armin leaned up on his toes to meet him halfway. The kiss was gentle and sweet, too short but just deep enough to promise more. Armin couldn’t help his lopsided smile, which only grew bigger as Jean pulled away with a silly grin of his own. 

“You two are absolutely gross,” Eren declared from the back of the shop, but he still snapped a picture of them and promptly sent it out to all of Armin’s friends. 

Armin and Jean shared a look and then leaned for another kiss just to hear him complain.

**Author's Note:**

> Even though I had to write this story in between finals, I had a great time participating in my first reverse bang! You can find me and this fic on [tumblr](http://syncs.tumblr.com/post/118633724154/your-love-is-my-turning-page) as well. Comments/kudos are always appreciated!


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